Welcome to the Kingdom of Pangria, the only home you've ever known. Ruled by our mighty King Elion we have long since snuffed out the mysterious dark forces that once plagued our lands. It's been sometime since a monster sighting has occurred, but the darkness that once was has not been forgotten. The Queen passed shortly after the great battle and for years now King Elios has remained a recluse.
-?- If you want to roll a character ----choose an animal -------choose a class ====== I will decide the rest====== -?-If I like your character -- You will receive art and the character will have a role to play in Pangria. -?-If you don't receive art -----there may already be an animal of that species in use in the story already. ---I will decide the protagonist, once a protagonist is chosen we can continue.
Today is October 12th, 2024. You are a normal person, living a normal life, remaining completely unremarkable among over 8 billion others just like you. Today, you are going to manifest psychic powers, and your life will very rapidly cease to be normal. Who are you?
> Jacob Porter, male, 25 years old. Works 2-3 shitty wagecuck jobs, splits rent with a tolerable roommate, almost exclusively engages with political media, thinks world is doomed.
> Rebecca Sims, female, 28 years old. Homeless, addicted to heroin, probably some sort of undiagnosed mental illness. Got fired from her acting job after years of mounting stress and misery, lost her apartment, got disowned, and was never able to pick herself back up.
> Casey Russo, nonbinary, 20. Junior in undergrad for computer science, participates in three clubs, in a sorority, has a part-time job and an internship with the campus. Uses amphetamines, sleep deprived, going to crash and burn.
> Pete Pruitt, male, 36. Lives with his parents, works a shitty wagecuck job, entire life consists of helping his elderly parents, working, watching escapist slop, playing vidya, or gooning. Definitely has some sort of depression.
> Thomas Duarte, male, 52. Lives alone, survives off social security and renting out some property he inherited. Alcoholic, stopped trying to quit over a decade ago, children and ex-wife hate or avoid him. Has pancreatic cancer that will kill him in ~8 months.
> Robert Writt, "male," 31 years old. Uses /lgbt/ and /pol/ consistently, chud, closeted trans woman, hates himself, moderately suicidal, keeps to himself, has a decent job and splits rent with two roommates.
> Gabriela Cabrera, female, 24. Always loved reading and writing stories, and was pressured into college. Has no long-term life plans, a knee-deep pile of debt, and a few months until she has a degree in literature. Deeply avoidant person, only thing keeping her sane is her girlfriend and some high school friends.
> Kurt Ortega, male, 18. Lifelong interest in sports, good enough to get scholarships. Plans on going to a trade school, partying with buddies, getting certification, and maybe locking down his hot high school sweetheart. Vaguely woke in a sort of uninvested way, has a growing issue with alcohol and speed, and his girlfriend is slowly realizing she's trans.
The world has another side, one with secret societies and hidden powers vying for control. But it is not merely humans, nay. For millennia, creatures which a modern man considers fables have been battling in the shadows, both within their own, and others. Only the Magical Girls can slay the demons of humanity's suffering, and clean up the supernatural messes along the way!
Following next, a magical girl begins her first training session.
- - - - -
On the last Episode, our Heroine, Magical girl SugarRush, has gotten her first introduction to magical girl society. Witnessing the dark land of the Shadow Market where she met an eccentric ‘apprentice’ E, and a non-combatant Sister of the Magical Girls, the troubled Angel. Now, she has arrived on the beach to train with her Magical Girl teammate, Jacky.
- - - - -
You shake off your troubles, compartmentalization always works, thought it feels like the more you lock away, the quicker you reach your limit. But this is important, you’re here to train with Jacky. She doesn’t seem like the sort to make it too harsh anyway.
So you nod at the short girl. Much like you, clad in bikini and flip-flops, though carrying a small purse. “Lead the way.”
Jacky widens her grin. “Attagirl!”
As you walk on the sand, you feel the gazes taking you in. You stare ahead, while Jacky waves. “I didn’t know when you were arriving, so I’ve been chatting for a while. There have increased drownings, it’s not part of our territory but it’s good to know, both for our own girls, and for the rest.”
You arrive at what might be generously called a bar, but it’s closer to a plastic shack in the middle of a beach, which just happens to have some booze on sale. A surfer dude is manning the counter, eagerly greeting your companion. “Welcome back babe! This the friend you mentioned?” He bears a grin as he scans you, one that falters when his eyes eventually reach your face. You have been told in the past that you have a resting bitch face, though you think you’re just honest with your emotions. “Y’ alright, dudette?” His question seems to carry a hint of genuine worry, but before you can answer, and probably tell him to fuck off, Jacky is already smoothing the situation. “She had a real rough few days. That’s why she’s here, the sun’s out, the water’s great, and some drinks will make that even better.”
The explanation calms him, grin returning and head bobbing with nods. “Yeah, the waves ‘ve been great.” He turns, opening a cooler and taking out four bottles, two of some tripe named cocktail drink, and two of watermelon vodka. “Can I count on you for the Luau?”
Jacky seems almost too smug. “Oh I wouldn't miss it.” She takes the bottles and turns, doing a slight flourish with her hips.
You remember primary school: running past metal doors and out into the recess playground, the teachers would always say "don't play rough." But inevitably someone would cross the line, and pushes and kicks and punches would be thrown over a crude joke or a prank, or for any one of a million stupid reasons.
You were never one of the offenders. But you do remember a close friends being a frequent troublemaker and an almost semi-permanent fixture inside the principal's office; on returning he would parody the principal's lecture in a faux serious voice—”propriety this, behavior that,” and other such things that kids liked to make fun of.
But at the end of whatever day he'd decided to make trouble, you would always spot him sitting on a chair inside a bereft classroom, looking downcast. Then you'd see his mother and the homeroom teacher deep in conversation, walking down the hallway and entering the room, closing the door behind them.
The following day he'd always return muted and solemn, and no roughhousing would occur for several days. You'd learn many years later that at dinner, when his father would ask "How was everyone's day," his mother would report on her son's mischief. Sometimes his father would wait until after dinner to bring out his belt. Other times, right there and then, he would administer his displeasure.
It befuddled you. Education at the point of the sword—a paradox if ever you saw one. But it wasn't something you ever personally experienced growing up, getting "disciplined" in that manner.
Your father…
>wasn’t around much >wasn't around at all >wasn’t prone to violence
You are a dwarf, proud, sturdy, strong. Your race has a rich and ancient history, though you know few details of it. Life finds a way to keep one from sitting down and hitting the books. On your end, it was the constant need to keep food on the table and learn a proper trade.
You do not live in a dwarfhold. In fact, you live rather far from any dwarfhold. This is the city of Anbenncost, the largest city in the Empire of Anbennar. Though there’s all kinds of creatures here, it is ruled, and mostly populated, by humans. You were born and raised here, yet your parents used to live in a proper dwarfhold, the hold of Khugdihr, far to the northeast, at the mouth of the great Serpentspine mountains. It was lost to the Greentide, a great invasion of orcs led by one Korgus, who was killed by a shieldmaiden by the name of Corin, who then supposedly rose to godhood as Goddess of War in the Cannorian Pantheon.
You don’t know much about all of that either. It all comes from rumors, hearsay, sermons… The older dwarves told you most of it, and they are spiteful and bitter about the fall of Khugdihr, you nodded along when they recounted the story of their battles against the orcs and goblins of Korgus but that’s all it was to you, stories and tall tales from your elders. You didn’t fight in the collapsing tunnels of Khugdihr, you didn’t desperately march through the depopulated wastelands of Castanor to reach Anbennar, you didn’t face the initial backlash from the locals when they saw the hordes of refugees at their gates, you didn’t struggle to adapt to strange customs and find work among those who hated you just for being there.
It's not that your life was simple either. You are the son of refugees, and a dwarf, in a city that hasn’t yet fully accepted dwarf-kind among them. They’d much rather you left for one of the Cannorian holds, those that were built among mountains far away from the Serpentspine and thus were unharmed by the Greentide. Maybe it’d be best to live in one of those holds but it would be a hell of a trek, and you heard many rumors that they’re not accepting newcomers. They’re full, they say. Well, Anbenncost and its people also insist that they’re full to the brim.
So, if they’re full, then you’re going to make a life of your own as an adventurer. Adventurers are the kind of folks you hear magnificent tales about, they fell evil and restore good. That’s what the tavern songs and bard tales say but you know it’s not so simple. It’s grey, really. You need coin to live, and sometimes the people hiring don’t have the interests of all that is good and well at heart yet they still need a good sword to take care of their issues.
Good, bad, you’re not really sure what your path is going to be, but it’s going to beat slaving away as a menial in the docks of the city for the centuries of live you have yet to live.
Last night got a little wild. Fridays always are. The Tantric Submersion Tanks you run for your manacite side hustle keep your conquests pent up and panting for decades at a time, so whenever you cycle out your batteries for bed-slaves their libidos just don't quit. Heat up the onsen and drop some spice and the only reason why you're not a shriveled up husk this morning is your elven blood, <span class="mu-i">engineered</span> through ten thousand millennia of high alchemy to be superior in every way.
Greater strength, greater speed, greater stamina, greater intellect, greater magic potential. You stand two heads taller than the tallest of their men, with a "sword" to put their entire species to shame and a bosom whose perfect size and shape made their women weep with envy. The very picture of elven perfection, as every Star Ranger ought to be.
The small legion of human bitches you keep aboard your tree-ship as maids, batteries, and bed-slaves were all supposedly the champions of their worlds. Proud lady knights, magical girls, saintesses, and sorceresses, none of them put up much of a challenge when your <span class="mu-i">Red Oak</span> pulled into orbit to harvest their world and bring them into the Aelvar Dominion. Now the lucky ones spend their days keeping your ship clean and their nights polishing your sword. The rest spend their days in near constant erotic torment so that their souls can contribute to the Dominion by producing a steady supply of manacite for your use and profit.
It's not like they'll ever rebel, either. Human souls are easy to manipulate, and you've engraved an indelible crest upon each of them that marks them as your property and makes them yearn for your command.
"Lady Sandra, your breakfast is ready." Your favorite maid breaks you from the thought of continuing last night's activities. Tall for a human, fair of skin and hair, and with tits half as big as yours, she took to her role in your service quite well as you conquered your first world. Plus, she looks good enough in the maid outfit that you don't waste her by putting her in a pod. "Additionally, you will want to know that First Prince Calamar has sent new orders for you over the ansible."
"Good morning Loulou. I take it the council found another garden?" you ask, already knowing the answer. You need to pull your sword out of some pink haired bitch's mouth as you rise from your bed.
"Just so, Lady Sandra," Loulou says. She helps you into your clothes and bats away some of the horny bitches who think they deserve to cling to you or try to whine for another round. There's a perverse pride she takes in batting them away, as she knows that you only tolerate that sort of behavior from her, as she's the most reliable slave you have. "It was not classified, so I took the liberty of reading through the prince's commands and preparing a summary for you."
Giving Loulou's butt a squeeze, you lead her to the dining hall and tell her, "Let's hear it."
Hey /qst/, I'm from China and wanted to share a log from a quest (basically an interactive CYOA/story) we ran on our local anonymous board, X Island. Hope you guys enjoy it.
Here's the link: https://www.nmbxd1.com/t/55362191 If you want to read the whole thing, you might need to sign up (only up to page 99 is visible to guests). Registration requires a Chinese phone number though, so fair warning.
Also, my English sucks, so this was all translated by DeepSeek. Don't blame me if it reads weird lol.
Not sure if this is the right board for quest logs, so I'm posting it here in /qst/. Mods feel free to move/delete if I fucked up.(and I already fucked up in /tg/ ( ﾟ∀。))
>OOC: Been incrediably sick so, sorry. As long as I get the votes will try to post more and shorten them some. Thank everyone sticking with it through my IRL shit.
I will go through the last few threads and sheets to make sure I have the bonuses right; they should be coming a lot slower now. Just assume the girls are very fricking deadly when it is life or death if they are geared up and prepped.
You're Jennifer "Jenn" Sanders, proud Thunderbird Witch, twin sister to Emily Sanders. Adoptive sister to several other people. Currently you and your Coven are on the trail of your ancestor, Lord Salazar Slytherin's powerful wand, to keep it from the clutches of Evil, stop one catastrophe, and mitigate another. You were the last true Seer for a time, a 16-year-old part-Veela girl way over your head.
You have begun collecting allies, training the young ones to survive. One of those allies, your adoptive sister, Aubrey Thompson? A girl with some schizophrenia, ADHD, delusions, and enough guns, Magic, and training to take over a small country revealed that she believed something. Namely?
That you, Em, your genius, slightly autistic "sister," Macy Wright, and "big brother" David Adams were Angels; Guardian Angels, capital 'A' Angels. Together, you decided to just let her think what she needed to.
You trained some kids and an older crippled girl who hated you but whom you had declared was your sister too. Gave out gifts. Taught a cute girl to be brave and kiss so she could ask out a boy she loved.
Made lighting your bitch, but had your ears and eyes change from using the shard of your soul put back in wrong, named Jenny to do it. Met 'Brey's uncle, Fox, the greatest thief in the world and new staff member.
Began to befriend an outgoing girl in your House named Trish who introduced you to the school's priestess, a woman armed for a crusade and with enough medals, Muggle and Magical, to make Audie Murphy blush. Had her explain some about Enchanting, the school, and an odd cat who seemingly had been around for more than 200 years and was also a preacher... somehow.
At the end? The tall, kind vestal passed on some artifacts for you and Em, including a sawed-off shotgun and magic sword; others you would know where they belonged.
Decided America was both mad and amazing as you passed on a huge Enchanted Desert Eagle to 'Brey and a long, Magic dagger to Macy.
And now...it was time to read a mysterious scroll, go to a guest lecture, and see your young apprentice Michah Mason blow people out at Magic exploding ball rugby.
The bones of the kneeling man give way as a primal scream escapes his lips, the sack covering his head only provides enough of a barrier to marginally lower the volume of his shrieking.
The crowd watching this brutal execution jeers at the man, "MURDERER", "C'MON LAD, PUT YOUR BACK INTO THE SWING", and other words of mockery slip from the mouths of the audience. The executioner, a large and burly man covered from head to toe in black garments, wields a nearly inhumanely long and heavy looking club. Each swing of it brutalizing the man in what is an increasingly barbaric display of punishment.
"Bastards.." you catch a barely audible whisper coming from what may be a woman behind you.
That's right.. you're not far off from being in the mans shoes ahead of you. Unsure of your bearings or whatever village they've transported you to due to your own coverings over your head, the only sure thing is you deserve to be here by all equal rights and measure. No matter what hole they put you in, no matter how long you were in there for, temptation overcame you.
<span class="mu-s">CRASH</span>
The sound of the poorly constructed floorboards give way and the crowd cheers, everyone waiting in line with you in the back is splattered by something.
"DID YA SEE THAT THERE? BATTERED THAT FUCKERS HEAD CLEAN OFF E' DID!" A particularly excited man shouts from out front the display.
You feel a rough hand grab your arm as it <span class="mu-r">tugs aggressively</span> causing you to yelp in pain, the wound in it from your previous capture not yet fully healed. Looks like you're next for whatever is coming, no tears fall from your eyes, you lay your sights on nothing but the burlap sack covering your head, your vision obscured by the bag.
In these final few moments you close your eyes, visions of the past slowly trickle forth from both before your criminal acts and after. You sigh and try to contain the fear of certain death coming your way, that is until an <span class="mu-r">overwhelmingly sharp pain in your head</span> throttles itself into the forefront of your thoughts. You scream before anything even happens and drop fully onto the floor like an infant.
No, you can't accept this.. to just lay down and die like this? You won't let these bastards make a display out of you.
<span class="mu-b">All the pain in your body suddenly goes away!</span> You stand, despite the efforts of the executioners help trying to keep you down on your knees, you stand defiant before them as an unknown burst of strength takes hostage over you.
The crowd murmurs amongst themselves in confusion, you hear the executioner wasting no time and rapidly approaching you on the stage.
"Oyo... what's that freak doing there now?" A confused man in the crowd says.
From behind the bag hiding your face, you smile. "Oh, but I'm not just any freak.." you start talking back, "I'm.."
